Two Sides
by ermynee322
Summary: "The Burrow would never look the same again."
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello! I'm back, with a brand new addition. Anyone else just hear Vanilla Ice? No, just me?**_

_**Here is chapter one of what will be another multi-chaptered fanfic. I hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think. This is sort of a prelim chapter to set a tone for the mood of the piece, and the action will pick up from here on out. Thanks so much for taking the time to read!**_

Chapter 1

The window of the small stone room was open, breathing a shiver of wind through the crack. The gust rustled the crimson bed curtains, causing the bottom hems of the fabric to unsettle a few dust bunnies underneath the four post bed. Hermione _tsked_ low under her breath, momentarily regretting that she'd given the house elves leave to ignore her room all year. Being Head Girl of Gryffindor came with more benefits than just a private bedroom, but the personal house elf that came with said room wasn't something she could have stomached.

Hermione dropped to her knees to peer under the bed, inspecting for any other hidden surprises. A quick glance was enough to confirm what she already knew: it was all cleared out, save a few more clumps of dust. She said a hurried vanishing spell to clean up the mess and stood once again to survey the room that had been hers the last nine months. For some time the space had been filled to bursting with her stock of books, quills, papers, jumpers and letters, as well as the occasional photograph, both of the moving and Muggle variety. Now, it was all packed up. The room could have belonged to anyone; there was nothing left to show that Hermione Granger had ever lived there.

The last time she left Hogwarts, she'd thought to never return. That had been a difficult goodbye, of course, but for a completely unique set of reasons. She was rushing off to an uncertain future, leaving so many things undone. Certain death was in front of her. She had done it willingly, but it had been a terrifying path to set out on. In the rush of it all, there hadn't been much time for reflection, no moment for a sentimental recollection of the memories she'd built at this castle for the bulk of her life. Now, there was nothing to do but sit and think.

The war to defeat Voldemort had been over mere weeks when she got her letter to return to school. She'd known immediately she was going to take the opportunity. She'd been at the Burrow then and Ginny was already planning to return, so it had seemed only natural. And really, it had always been such a goal of hers to finish school, it had meant so much to her. Amid all the sadness and grieving, here was a bright spot, a chance of fantasizing about herself back in her natural habitat. It was an offer to feel like herself once more, surrounded by the books and lectures and assignments she adored. Learning had been more to her than just the completion of homework, though she'd be hard pressed to convince her school mates of that.

No, learning was a great deal more. Books and studies meant always having a resource, a guide to go to when life presented a problem. It meant having an escape, whether that escape was a literal one while looking for a spell to save your life or an imaginary one, the kind of retreat where you could get away for a few hours, flee to a beautiful world when the one you really lived in made you feel small and boring and friendless. That was what language and understanding meant to Hermione, and here was a chance to get a bit of it back.

She'd told Harry and Ron immediately, and they both seemed unsurprised. And supportive. They wanted what was best for her, obviously, and would miss her, even more obviously. Because despite how much of a threesome they had become, Ron and Harry wouldn't be joining her. Harry had an invite with the Auror department and Ron…_Ron_…had received the same invitation, but opted to stay on with George at the shop instead. It had been amazing to watch him step up for his brother in such an unselfish way. Anyone who knew him understood what it cost Ron not to continue on with Harry, but he never breathed a word of the sacrifice. George accepted the help quietly, as if feeling the weight of the gift but knowing he couldn't properly thank the giver adequately through words.

A knock at the door broke Hermione's concentration and she turned to see Ginny in the open entry. The redhead gave a small smile, already recognizing Hermione's hesitation to leave. They'd always been close, but had grown even more so this past year. They'd both had the boys to lean on for so long, and these months having only each other had given them new perspective into each other. It was genuinely the closest Hermione had even felt to another female.

"I'm coming," Hermione said quietly. "I promise."

Ginny raised a brow as if she didn't believe it, but walked in without protest anyway. She looked around the room for herself, looking to help by finding any left behind object, some forgotten tie or sock that could be recovered at the last minute. But there was nothing. It was just as Hermione had thought; there had been plenty of time to prepare for this goodbye.

"Your trunks downstairs?"

Hermione nodded her head in the affirmative. Three identical leather trunks sat stacked in the center of the Gryffindor common room, each with a delicate gold "HG" embellished on its side, carried down dutifully for her by sweet Dennis Creevey. Hermione spared a moment to remember Colin. She closed her eyes against a flash of memory, seeing his smiling face that afternoon when all the petrified victims of the basilisk had been awakened. She closed her eyelids tighter as a second vision, of Colin dead on the floor, struck even sharper across her memory.

"Okay?" Ginny asked gently. Hermione nodded again, her eyes still closed, before opening them to look back at her friend.

"Just give me a moment and I'll be down, yes?"

Ginny looked reluctant.

"I need a minute by myself."

Ginny seemed to give in at that, hearing some unspoken explanation of all the feeling rushing Hermione in that instant. There had been a time when Ginny would rally against such inclinations, shove back when others tried to push her away, still so scared of being the one left behind. That had changed these past months, as if Ginny finally understood she couldn't hold onto something by grasping it tighter. Ginny's strength had always been her ability to give what was needed, and she'd embraced it this year.

Alone once more, Hermione walked to the window and pushed it closed with force. There was an uneven groove along the edge of the sill, a bump that had always made it near impossible to close the window properly. Hermione wondered now why she had never thought to fix it with magic. _Are you a witch or not? _

Hermione whipped around against the voice, the silent words echoing only in her mind. Her back to the window, she still felt a chill, though the panes were mostly shut and the summer air outside had to be at a warm temperature. But Hermione had seen the clouds collecting out somewhere near the Forbidden Forest and she knew they'd be on the castle soon. It would be a cold and wet ride in the Hogwarts Express, a fitting scene for her last departure.

Hermione was sad to be leaving, yes, but not only because of the professors and friends and classes she would be saying farewell to. There was a reunion waiting for her at home…she stumbled over the words. At the Burrow. It wasn't her home, it was her friend's home. She herself had no home to speak of. She was going to the home of her friend, Ginny, and Hermione was certain it would offer none of the comfort she had come to associate it with.

Ron Weasley was dead, and the Burrow would never look the same again.


	2. Chapter 2

Hermione lay still in the thin cot bed, the quilt pulled up over her head. Through the fabric she could still see the bright light of morning and she knew she'd need to get up soon, lest Mrs. Weasley come looking for her. The matriarch had been extra attentive since Hermione had arrived three days ago, as if afraid she might break down at any sudden motion. It wasn't an absurd worry, Hermione's nerves had surely been tested being back in Ron's childhood home, but she was doing her best to hide that fact from the other inhabitants of the Burrow.

Hermione choked back a sob as her mind brought up his name. This had become a fairly habitual morning routine; staying bathed in the glow of dreams for as long as possible before rising to greet another day without him. Originally, Hermione had been terrified of the night. Her experience after Malfoy Manor had shown her firsthand what her psyche did with bad memories. After losing him, she'd been sure life would become a series of nightmares every time she closed her eyes, an eternity of watching Ron die playing out in her mind. But that hadn't been the case. Instead, dreams had become her respite. Because without fail, every time she fell asleep, he was there. And alive. In dreams, the two of them lived out every fantasy Hermione had ever had during the seven years they'd known each other, laughing and smiling and touching and being together. It was only when she woke up that the sick feeling returned, and Hermione lingered every morning, trying to memorize and bring back those few short moments of peace.

Hermione threw off the quilt, sitting upright quickly. She exhaled smoothly with her chin tucked down, inhaling again deeply. She repeated the exercise, just as Madame Pomfrey had taught her. In and out, in and out. The breathing created a rhythmic sound in the small room, and Hermione focused her energy on that noise, using it as a distraction to the pressure she felt on her chest. A lone tear fell from her eye but she was able to stop it at that, blinking rapidly and continuing her deep breathing until she finally caught her breath.

Hermione let out a cynical chuckle. When would it get easier? Everyone had told her it would take time, that she would begin to feel like herself eventually. But it had been ten long months of this, and each day felt as awful as the first. Hermione shuddered thinking about the many years, months, weeks ahead of her. Her whole life stretched in front of her in that instant, an unending routine of days in which she had to go on living without him.

For a moment, she thought about giving in to the sadness, curling up in the bed and giving up as she often fantasized about doing. But then she remembered Mrs. Weasley downstairs and stood up instead. She wouldn't cause anyone in this family undue worry if she could help it. And so, like she had done for the past 302 days, she forced her feet to move, one step and then another.

She tightened the knot on her robe as she walked into the hallway. One palm slid along the wall as she walked to the stairway, anchoring her in place. She moved her hand to the railing, using it as a prop to stay upright as she descended the stairs. The house was eerily quiet, something that had come to be the norm at the Burrow. Bill and Fleur were busy with Victoire at Shell Cottage, Charlie rarely came in from Romania, and Hermione had heard Percy had a new girlfriend he was spending plenty of time with. At any rate, hardly any of the Weasley children stayed over anymore. In fact, it was only force of habit that kept Hermione bunking in Ginny's room. There were now far too many empty rooms at the Burrow.

"Hermione, there you are," Mrs. Weasley said with forced brightness. "I was just about to come up and wake you."

Hermione stepped further into the kitchen as Mrs. Weasley ushered her forward, pulling out a chair from the dining table and setting a hot cup of tea down once Hermione dutifully sat down. Mrs. Weasley continued bustling about, informing Hermione that Ginny was in town with Mr. Weasley. A plate of toast floated over courtesy of the older woman's wand and Hermione gave a quiet thanks. Mrs. Weasley dried her hands on a dish towel then sat next to Hermione, studying the newly-graduated student as Hermione gently chewed on a corner of the toast.

It was no secret that Mrs. Weasley had stepped in to play the parent role in Hermione's life. She'd lost two children in one year, and Hermione was certainly without the comfort of a mother and father of her own. There had been plans last summer to finally go about retrieving her mum and dad from Australia, but with the accident and the ensuing struggles it had presented, Hermione hadn't had the heart. Ginny brought it up from time to time, even offering to go with her friend to start the process, but Hermione kept putting it off. What if she didn't like what she found? There had already been enough loss and Hermione didn't feel brave enough to confront the possibility that her parents were irretrievably lost.

"What do you have planned today, dear?"

Hermione remained silent as Mrs. Weasley rattled off a list of possible activities for the day, including knitting, hiking, shopping, reading. Hermione nodded dimly as Mrs. Weasley continued on, until she realized a lull in the conversation. Hermione looked up from her teacup to see Mrs. Weasley peering at her expectantly.

"Yes," Hermione answered finally. "Perhaps I'll do some reading this afternoon."

Mrs. Weasley nodded with a smile, glad to have received a response. She began cleaning up the kitchen, handing Hermione a stack of letters that had come for her earlier. Hermione saw several envelopes bearing a Ministry seal, which must be offers of employment. When she had been readying for her last year of school she had daydreamed about what position she would one day take, so set on making a difference, however small. Now, she couldn't care less what she ended up doing. She pushed the envelopes aside with a sigh.

"There was one other letter," Mrs. Weasley said cautiously. Hermione met the older woman's gaze and could tell Mrs. Weasley was nervous. The woman pulled a sealed letter from a pocket of her apron and handed it timidly toward Hermione. Reaching for the letter, Hermione's gaze rested on the front of the parchment where her name was clearly written in ink. She immediately recognized the handwriting.

Hermione dropped her hand quickly, causing Mrs. Weasley to drop the letter. Hermione watched as it floated to the floor. She looked at it there on the ground, her stare boring into the parchment as if she could make it disintegrate. It was always this way, every time she'd received an owl post from him for the past 10 months.

"Mrs. Weasley," Hermione said quietly. "You know I'm not speaking to Harry."


	3. Chapter 3

_**Just a quick one here, getting a bunch of the building blocks out of the way. Thanks to all who have read and reviewed. Enjoy!**_

There were five biscuits left on the plate at the kitchen counter and George swiped all of them in a single palm. Shoving one in his mouth and hiding the rest behind his back, lest his Mum appear suddenly from around some corner, he sauntered easily across the kitchen. He knew who he was there to see and he was pretty sure where to find her. What mood she would be in once they were face to face was quite a different matter.

Over the course of the last year, George Weasley had gladly taken on the task of caretaker for Hermione Granger. Of course, there were plenty of people in the family who had been looking out for her. Mum and Dad were particularly doting and Ginny was practically the girl's shadow. Bill and Fleur had paid her plenty of attention as well, something George had never been able to figure. All Bill had ever said about it was they'd all grown close during the war. Even Percy had become attached to Hermione…probably the whole brains thing. But everyone in the family knew that if the brilliant witch was in a right state, it was George who should be sent in.

He hadn't been surprised to receive Mum's owl, anyway. Hermione had been home for three days already, he was sure to be needed eventually. George paused in his thoughts to recognize how easily he associated Hermione and the Burrow with home. It was true. She had been a part of the family for a while now, but the extra loss of one of its members had solidified it.

George gulped. Tasks like this were always difficult for him. How was he supposed to make someone see reason over a situation even he himself was still grappling with? It hadn't been like when they'd lost Fred. Losing a twin was like dying yourself, really, but it had been planned for. He and Fred had said their goodbyes, had walked into that battle knowing what they were facing. Fred dying was a nightmare, but losing Ron was something else all together. It was a nightmare all right, but like one that crept up on you during the most beautiful of days. It had taken them all by surprise.

Reaching the picture window that looked out onto the front porch, George spied his target sitting frightfully still on a bench. She wasn't even holding a book. It was a pose he had caught Hermione in often enough the last few months. He'd taken it upon himself to check in on her after the accident, the visits to Hogwarts being easy enough from his shop. Those afternoons had become more and more frequent and George had a sneaking suspicion that the young witch opened up to him even more so than with Ginny. He would never admit it out loud, but he reckoned he knew why. Of all the Weasleys left, no one was more like Ron than he was.

He opened the back door without preamble, startling her. It was a testament to how changed she was that she didn't whip around with a wand pointed at his throat. As soon as she realized who it was, she relaxed, smiling a tiny bit and letting her shoulders go from their tensed position. George took a seat next to her and they sat in companionable silence for a few long moments, him chewing quietly on a second cookie.

"Mum says you were upset this morning."

Hermione made a sound like a tongue clucking and George could have laughed for how much it reminded him of her old self. Instead, he held out a biscuit to her, which she ignored.

"I was not upset," Hermione answered finally. "I just wasn't interested in opening anymore post."

George didn't answer, choosing to nod slowly in answer as he shoved a third biscuit in his mouth. He'd had this conversation with her too many times this past year, there were really no logical lines of argument to take on the topic anymore.

Hermione rolled her eyes as soon as she realized his angle.

"It will do you no good to placate me, George. You know how I feel about this."

Yes, he knew how she felt about it. When the loss had first happened, they'd all agreed with her, too. It had been too difficult to face or understand, and anger had been such an easy response. Of course, that faded as their grief progressed, and at one point each member of the family had begun to make some sense of the tragedy. Even Ginny was getting better. Everyone except Hermione. George had tried for so long to come up with a solution but he was beginning to fear it was hopeless. Or, if not hopeless, that nothing would ever be fixed until Hermione was ready to start the transition.

"We all miss him."

Hermione's face softened at that, as he knew it would. She'd always tried to keep her feelings from inflicting the same resentment on the others. Just because she was so miserable, she'd never seen a reason the rest of them should be that way. She didn't get it. They all loved her, just as Ron had. They couldn't be happy unless she was, too.

"I know you do," Hermione said finally, looking him square in the eyes for the first time. "I know I'm being horrible, but I don't know how to change. I don't know how to get out of this, George."

She said the last part so quietly, and with such conviction, George's heart broke a bit. Taking her in, she seemed smaller than she ever had before, even as an eleven-year-old child. He knew what this was doing to her, how the situation had torn at her so that there was nothing left of the girl before. If he could, he would give up anything to get back just one piece of the innocent young Hermione he'd first met on the Hogwarts Express, swotty know-it-all and everything.

"If you'd just let us help you," he answered, putting one arm around her shoulder. "Perhaps if you talked to him."

"I tried that."

"No, you didn't," George said seriously. "Not really."

Hermione closed her eyes against his words. He could tell she was trying to calm down, not wanting to explode in a tirade or impassioned rant the way she had done so many times before. It wouldn't have mattered, anyway. He knew the exact words flying through her head at that moment. She'd said them all before. Hell, he'd said it all to himself, as well. Her reasoning wasn't anything new to him, it was just too awful to accept.

"George," Hermione said, her eyes glassy from holding back tears, "how am I supposed to forget that Harry killed Ron?"


	4. Chapter 4

_**So sorry for the wait on this chapter! Anyone who's stuck around, thanks! I have every intention of getting the next chapter up soon and I appreciate all who have read and reviewed so far.**_

_**Also, a big thanks to rhmac12 for the sweet nudge to get a new chapter up. It's nice to receive encouraging reminders that readers want to see more, so this one's for you, rhmac12!**_

Harry blinked groggily, his vision blurred as if someone had fogged up a window. Groaning lowly, his left hand came up to feel around on the table where his head rested, one check flattened against the surface in sleep. His hand felt the cool plastic of his glasses, which he slowly pulled onto the bridge of his nose. He blinked, still throwing off the drugged feeling of sleep, until his eyes rested at the clock hanging on the wall.

He jerked upward immediately, completely awake. Three hours and forty- _what was it, forty-two minutes?_ He'd been asleep for three hours and forty-two minutes, nearly one-sixth of an entire day. Harry's wrist jerked involuntarily, the result of so many hours, days, weeks with a quill in his palm. The motion knocked over a three-day old cup of tea, spilling its contents over a stack of parchment tucked under the saucer.

"Shite," he muttered under his breath. He ran one palm over the mess, helping it spill over the table and onto the floor. He let the puddle collect on the floor, turning his attention quickly back to the book that had been pressed under his cheek.

The light, he didn't have enough light. The lantern had burned out in his sleep. It was shortly after dusk and no light was getting in through the thin line of the curtains, which were kept constantly drawn. Harry continued to strain his eyes, trying to make out the words on the page as he stumbled through Grimmauld Place. Down the hall he moved, toward the kitchens where he figured a match might be. In past months he might have shouted for Kreacher, but the elf had been gone for some time. No one dared bother him in these rooms anymore.

"There," Harry said, speaking to himself and the dirty dishes piled high on the kitchen counter. His fingers found a match on the center table and he dragged it across the surface, the spark creating a bright light that dimmed as the fire caught. He carefully lit a candlestick sitting on the table before waving the match out and dropping it carelessly on the floor. The book in his hands fell onto the table, open to the last page he'd been poring over before foolishly falling asleep.

The pages of the books in his quickly-expanding library had become his whole life. Funny, anyone who'd known them back at Hogwarts would have assumed it'd be Hermione who would have descended into this madness. Harry closed his eyes tightly at the thought of her name. But she wasn't interested in helping him, wasn't interested in anything he had to say.

Why wouldn't she listen to reason? He had it all spelled out beautifully in his notes, if only she'd hear him out. There were three moons in September and last April had been an incredibly cold month. But the frost only came in before dawn and there had been twelve rains in May. That meant June would be a particularly red period, with a blue spell coming next. If he was right, and he had to be, that meant the tide came in lower than it had for five years. Mixed with the right codex from the second volume of Godric's verses and with enough dragonfly oil to get the job done, he just might be able to crack the continuum in the exactly right spot.

Harry gingerly pulled out a piece of folded parchment from his pocket, a paper he kept with him at all times. He unfolded it, the creases delicate from constant use, from an eternal need to remember, from reading the words over and over.

_Ron died August 17._

_Funeral on August 20._

_Find something to help._

_Need Hermione's help._

Slowly, he folded the paper back into a neat square and placed it back in his pocket. Giving a cough, Harry pushed the glasses back onto his nose and bent over the book. There was just something missing, some clue he needed to find, and he'd have the answer. He was sure of it.

**###**

_It was a sunny day, which made Hermione glad. For some reason, she had the feeling it had been raining for years. She'd always loved the rain as a child, appreciated it for its storybook quality, but the thought of storms made her uneasy now. Better to be here, with these blue skies and yellow sun and white tufts of cottonweed that blew at steep angles in the wind._

_Where was this place? She had the feeling she was near the Burrow, that was the last place she remembered being. But nothing here looked like home. Up ahead she spied a wide cliff. She couldn't tell where it dropped off but she decided not to get close enough to find out. It was much too pleasant here in the center of this field anyhow, and Ron would be there soon._

_Lying down in the grass, Hermione rolled onto her back, looking up at the sky. She had time to spare now. School wouldn't start for a few weeks and then she could get started on finishing up her last year, the year she almost missed out on. Ron and Harry would be home soon from training, their Auror classes almost finished up. The whole family had worried for them during those weeks of isolation, when they couldn't hear from the boys as they prepared to enter the unit full force. But Hermione knew they looked after one another, and Ron and Harry always did a wonderful job looking after one another._

_They would be home in two days and then Hermione would have weeks of Ron to herself. Before he'd gone, they'd taken advantage of their time as much as possible, with hidden touches and secret kisses in corners of the Burrow. Their muffled "I love you's" whispered into necks and shoulders before growing brave enough to look one another in the eyes and say it. _

_A hawk streaked against the sky, the noise too foreign for such an idyllic place. Hermione jerked up, noticing for the first time how the sky had gone gray. She didn't like it. It was too early for storm season. She moved her gaze around, looking for the hawk. It was gone, its shout still vibrating off the trees somehow. Then, a flash of red, the color that made sunshine even when there was none. Hermione clambered up from her position on the ground, a smile already forming on her lips. He was close by, only twenty yards away or so. He moved fast, running, sprinting. He needed to slow down, he was getting close to that cliff. Hermione knew to stay away from it, why was he moving so near it?_

_Hermione realized he wasn't alone, Harry was behind him. Chasing him. Why was Harry chasing Ron? The boys moved like water, gliding unnaturally toward an edge that Hermione knew they needed to stay away from._

_Suddenly, Hermione knew where they were. This was no hideaway. She opened her mouth to scream a warning, but no sound came out. She jolted to run forward, but her feet were frozen, forcing her to watch the scene unfold. It made no sense. She hadn't been there that day. Why did she have to see it? Why did she have to watch?_

_In a flash, Hermione saw Harry's arm shoot out, watched as his palm flattened on the back of Ron's shoulders. Without reason or precursor, Harry pushed Ron cleanly off the cliff, Ron's descent the trigger that allowed a scream to rip from Hermione._

The scream kept going, even after Hermione jerked upright and opened her eyes. The sound didn't move a soul in the house; even Ginny remained sleeping peacefully, only feet from the still-screaming young woman. Hermione had long ago learned to place a silencing spell on herself before trying to get some sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Thanks for reading!**_

Ginny didn't like when Kingsley was at the Burrow.

She sat quietly on a chair in the living room, watching as her mother bustled about filling teacups and offering cake. Professor McGonagall perched on a settee as Kingsley and two of his Ministry men stood near the fireplace, each holding an impressively thick folder. It all reminded her too much of the days during the war, when secret Order meetings took place in spaces typically meant to feel safe and inviting. It gave her an uneasy feeling.

Since Voldemort was defeated, they'd had plenty of similar gatherings at the Burrow. When Professor McGonagall came to invite Hermione, Harry and Ron back to Hogwarts. When the head of the Auror department arrived to deliver similar invitations to start training. Harry had accepted immediately but Ron deferred, helping George for a few months before joining Harry. But Ginny tried not to think about the events of that summer, when Ron had gone off with Harry, where everyone assumed he'd be safe. No one at the Burrow ever dreamed it would mean the loss of both boys, one to death and the other to…well, whatever you could call the state Harry was in right now.

It may have appeared to the outside world that Harry had been given up on, that he was completely isolated. But that wasn't the case. Though Harry did everything he could to discourage outside interaction, each in the family did what they could to get through. Ginny herself went over to Grimmauld place whenever she was home on break, though he wouldn't open the door. She also sent many letters, all of which went unanswered. Every now and then, George and Bill would get riled up and impassioned on too much firewhiskey, then storm over and bang on Harry's door. Mum was the most successful. She knew plenty of powerful unlocking charms and made a habit of checking on Harry once a week or so, breaking in if she had to and dropping off food, picking up laundry and clearing the dishes. Mum told Ginny that Harry never spoke to her while she was there, just kept his head ducked over some books.

The only person Harry ever reached out to was Hermione. All through the last school year, Ginny would watch as owl after owl dropped a letter in Hermione's lap, addressed in Harry's familiar scrawl. She never read even one of them. The situation was more than frustrating for Ginny. She too knew the anger and hurt that Hermione felt, but she also craved any news of Harry she could get. And he was actually willing to speak to Hermione. How could she ignore that fact?

"I'm sure you're all wondering why we've barged in on you like this," Kingsley said suddenly, placing his empty teacup on a table.

"Not at all," Mr. Weasley said. "You know you're always welcome."

Hermione sniffed from her chair near the window. Her arms were clutched around her middle and she kept looking out the window, as if trying to appear uninterested in the proceedings around her. Ginny assumed it was a defense mechanism. Kingsley would forever be associated with bringing bad news.

When they'd first learned of Ron's death, nothing about the situation made sense. Kingsley appeared in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon, informing everyone that Ron was dead, his body was lost, and Harry was responsible. The last part may have been the hardest of all to figure. How could anyone believe that Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding word, would kill his best mate, Ron Weasley?

"I asked Minerva to join us today to speak about what's in these folders," Kingsley continued, indicating the papers in his hands. On the cover of the file Ginny recognized the official seal of the Auror department.

"Excuse my frankness. As you're all aware, the details surrounding Ron's death were murky at best. We know Ron was on a training mission with Harry and six other members of his Auror team. The investigation has been ongoing since the event, as we've tried to piece together what happened that day."

Ginny closed her eyes against the memories, words like classified, evidence pending, and need-to-know basis assaulting her. The secretive nature of the Auror department meant information was given scarcely and begrudgingly, a fact all the Weasleys and Hermione had railed the entire year against. Ginny chanced a look at Hermione. She was still trying to pull off the unaffected posture, but her eyes kept stealing to the folder in Kingsley's hand. Not for the first time, Ginny reminded herself to go easy on Hermione. The redhead had always understood the close bond Hermione and Ron had, but the connection had only grown those first months after the war. Having something so special prematurely torn away from her had put Hermione in a place Ginny couldn't fully comprehend, however accustomed she was with loss.

"The results of that investigation are here," Kingsley said finally, tapping his folder. "I wanted to come straight here and share the news."

There was collective silence in the room. Molly and Arthur held hands from where they sat on the sofa. Even Professor McGonagall seemed to hold her breath, though she presumably already knew what Kingsley was about to say.

"We all know Ron died last August when he fell over a cliff on the coast of Dover. And we know Harry pushed him over," Kingsley said quickly, as if the words tasted bad in his mouth. "Of course, we've all struggled with why Harry did such a thing, a problem that hasn't been helped by Harry's refusal to speak to, well, anyone."

Ginny's gaze shot to Hermione. The young woman was fixed on Kingsley now, not registering the hand she might have had in coaxing some information out of Harry, if she'd just been willing to confront him at some point these last months.

"It was a difficult case to sort out, as so many of us were reluctant to press charges against Harry."

"Tsk, press charges against Harry, the idea," Mrs. Weasley muttered low under her breath.

"No, it wasn't something any of us wanted to see," Kingsley said. "With your approval, we've handled this quietly and privately speaking with the six other witnesses…"

"Seven," Hermione said unexpectedly. It was the first time she'd spoken since being called into the living room nearly an hour ago.

"I beg your pardon?"

"There were seven other witnesses there that day besides Harry," Hermione said quietly. "The six other Aurors in training and the Auror unit head."

Kingsley quickly flipped his folder open and scanned a few lines, before looking up and nodding in agreement.

"I've read the files," Hermione added, looking back out the window as she did. Ginny had a flash of memory, a stack of parchment in Hermione's bag, on her bedside, with her at dinner. The stack of papers had replaced Hermione's leisurely book reading throughout the past year and Ginny finally understood what she'd been witnessing.

"Yes, of course you have," Kingsley added hastily, almost ashamed. Then, he opened the folder up to regain his thoughts. "The main reason I've come here today is I wanted to let you all know the case has closed, and we have the evidence we need to prove Harry isn't responsible of any wrongdoing."

Ginny sat up straight at the words, releasing a throw cushion from her clutch that she hadn't known she'd been gripping.

"What do you mean?" Mr. Weasley asked softly.

"As Minister Shacklebolt explained to me earlier, this appears to be a situation of magical charms gone awry."

Ginny was surprised to hear Professor McGonagall speak up, having almost forgotten the headmistress was even in the room.

"What I mean to say is, Ron wasn't supposed to die that day."

"What do you mean?" Ginny quietly asked her former teacher. Professor McGonagall looked long and hard in her direction, then at her parents, then finally at Hermione over near the window. She gazed steadily at Hermione, as if trying to silently convey the words without having to say them out loud.

"Part of the training mission was the use of preventative magic," Shacklebolt said at last. Ginny turned her attention to him.

"Our files show Ron was meant to have thrown up a landing shield at the bottom of that cliff," the Minister said, tapping his folder. "Harry thought Ron would be safe."

Ginny tried to remain calm, but none of what anyone was saying made any sense. She felt something wet on her cheek and she knew she was crying, but she couldn't remember when it had started.

"There's a charm the young men were practicing," McGonagall said steadily. "If used properly, Ron would have been perfectly protected falling off that cliff."

"I don't understand a word of this," Mrs. Weasley said desperately, her hands fluttering as her husband tried to calm her with a soothing arm.

Ginny's tears grew quicker, so she couldn't see clearly. She couldn't think any better either. Charms and shields and spells were words that were losing their meaning. Ron was dead and she was here and she didn't understand what files and folders and protocol had to do with any of it.

"What they're saying," Hermione said, her voice a sudden disruption that cut through Ginny's confusion, her eyes still boring through the glass of the window as if she could see something in the distance, "is Ron was responsible for his own death."


End file.
